Last Thursday, a storm ambushed our corner of West Michigan in the early morning hours.

The crash of the heavens might have woken you from a deep slumber or kept you awake. But if you dared peer deeply into that darkness, you would discover that there is where history dwells, a vibrant history. Michigan’s history, especially, is as rich as the land itself and the fresh waters that surround our pleasant peninsula, waters that once teemed with unlimited fish, and by their shores, the forests with unlimited game.

In part, that richness of soil and water is what drew the remnants of the once-mighty Huron tribe here from its ancestral lands east of the great lake of that name. The Hurons, or Wyandots as they were also known, had incurred a mighty enemy in the form of another great Native American nation, the Five Nations of the Iroquois.

In the war between those two nations, the Hurons were decimated and ultimately, many of them took refuge with the native Michigan tribes: the Ojibwa, the Pottawatomi and the Ottawa.

It was this loose-knit confederation that, 250 years ago this summer, pretty much shook up the tiny white world of its time.

You see, bankruptcy was not Detroit’s worst crisis. A quarter of a thousand years ago, residents faced a much, much worse fate.

We haven’t seen too much hoopla about it, but this is the sestercentennial of the famous “Pontiac’s Conspiracy,” one of the most fantastic stories in all American history. We hardly read or hear a thing about it nowadays.

Back then, in 1763, North America had changed forever. The long struggle between Britain and France for supremacy in the New World had ended with France’s defeat, and the fleur de lis that flew over the rude forts of the Great Lakes came down and the King’s Colors rose in their stead.

The British took possession of France’s outposts, the most important of which was Detroit, then a relatively tiny military colony of fur traders, soldiers and missionaries huddled in a small fort on the Detroit River.

The war chief of the Ottawas, Pontiac, was a devoted friend of France. In the wake of the French defeat, he conceived of a master plan on a grand scale to drive the English out of their new holdings and back across the Allegheny Mountains by uniting all the tribes in North America in this cause, an unheard-of scheme for its time.

By force, surprise and guile, the summer of 1763 saw no less than eight British forts taken and burned in Michigan, Indiana, Ohio and Pennsylvania. In addition, war parties allied with Pontiac’s cause attacked settlements up and down the East Coast, causing mass panic.

The fort at Detroit, though, commanded by Major Henry Gladwin, managed to hold out through a months-long siege conducted by Pontiac himself. Gladwin is an almost unknown figure today.

Pontiac’s rebellion failed because of Detroit’s resistance, which allowed the British to rally and counterattack. The great chief himself, forced to make peace, was later murdered.

So when the thunder rolls in the next time, and the lightning cracks, take a peek into the history that lies beyond the edge of darkness and time. You’d be amazed at what you might find.

David Kolb is former editorial page editor of The Muskegon Chronicle. Email: writersgroupllc@gmail.com